Bill Weasely died this morning. I uncovered the cage, and he had his head under his wing, refusing to get up. I poked him gingerly, because he bites, and he just rocked a bit and ignored me. He looked up when I picked him up and offered water, but after a bit of gasping and shaking, it was clear he was on his way out. I put him in a basket with a warming pad and took him outside to see the trees. He died looking at the sky.
He was old, and he was disabled, so it was the gentlest way out for him. He'll get a burial in a tissue instead of being chucked over the fence like the things the cats bring in.
Birds live as long as mammals, but they die pretty abruptly. If you want to teach your kids about the fragility of life and importance of death rituals, get a bird. Cats and dogs at least tend to make a big deal about dying, and have organs large enough to tape back together at the vet's. They are sturdy. Hercules and Xebo are 19 years old, and still peeling our eyelids open at 3am, hoping for an early breakfast. Hercules has a problem with salivation, and last night he sat on my pillow, scratched his chin with a hind leg, and scattered drool all over my face. If anyone is spraying drool or vomit or poop, it usually ends up on me. It is my special skill.
Unlike, say, bird rehabilitation.
Goodbye, Bill. You were a handsome redhead, and I hope you had lots of healthy babies in your youth.
Animals are a bummer.
ReplyDelete